


Five Times Stiles Died, and One Time No One Did

by FlutterFyre, freshbakedlady



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1, Alternate Universe, Audio Format: MP3, Audio Format: Streaming, In a manner of speaking, Mild Gore, Podfic, Podfic Length: 30-45 Minutes, Pre-Slash, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-07-24 20:02:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20020225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlutterFyre/pseuds/FlutterFyre, https://archiveofourown.org/users/freshbakedlady/pseuds/freshbakedlady
Summary: The pack is struggling to figure out how to deal with Deucalion and his bloodthirsty demands.Stiles has an idea.Predictably, Derek hates it.





	1. Prologue

Length: 40:32

Download Link: available as [mp3 here](http://joycesully.com/toystore/5xdied.mp3) (right-click, save as...)

Streaming: 

*****

“I’m telling you this is our best bet.” 

Red eyes flared in response as Derek growled, “No, Stiles. It’s not happening.”

Stiles paused in the middle of the length of the windows in Derek’s loft. He glared at Derek, who stood in the center of the loft with his fists clenched.

The ragtag pack was grudgingly gathered, along with Scott and Stiles, all in one place for a change. Lydia sat in a chair at the table; Allison on a stool beside her. Both girls were bent over the slowly progressing beastiary translation on Lydia’s laptop. Nearby, Scott perched on the table, legs swinging lazily as he watched his best bro pace. 

Cora and Boyd, who spent most pack time sharing space in a trauma-fueled huddle, crouched next to one another on the entry steps with Isaac hovering nearby. Predictably, Peter sat smirking on the spiral staircase, observing the unfolding drama. 

“Derek—”

“No, I’m not killing anyone in my pack. It’s not happening.”

Stiles flinched at the deep thrum that filled his chest, like a cello string being plucked. Absently, he pressed his left hand against his chest, fingers rubbing along the sternum. Curious, he looked around the room, but no one was reacting. Except for Peter. The zombie-wolf straightened abruptly, smirk widening as he looked from Stiles to Derek.

“Come now, nephew” Peter purred. ”It’s not like he’ll really be dead.”

“Shut it, you,” Stiles snapped. 

Peter’s smile grew at Stiles’ lack of fear of him. He barked a laugh at Stiles’ next statement.

“Seeing as  _ you’ve  _ killed me  _ twice _ , you don’t get a vote here.”

*****


	2. Peter Is What?

_Derek’s uncle is the Alpha._

In the absurdly vacant hospital corridor, Stiles took several deep breaths, trying to slow his racing thoughts. He looked at the destruction surrounding him. _Where the hell is everybody, anyway? Surely_ somebody _heard the crashing of bodies and the breaking of glass._ Shaking his head at the random observation, Stiles refocused on the situation at hand. _Peter Hale is THE ALPHA. Oh crap!_

Knowing he should flee, but unable to just leave, Stiles held his breath and crept towards the room where the two werewolves were. He stopped just short of the open doorway. As he listened to the gloating Evil Villain speech, he told himself he should have left Derek to his own devices and gone to the lacrosse game – he had blown a chance at first line!

The thing was, Stiles couldn't just abandon Derek here to possibly die at Peter’s hands — he just wasn’t that guy. At the same time, Stiles had no clue what he could possibly do to help. _Think, Stiles, think. What would Yoda do?_

Peering through the doorway, he could see Peter’s ruined profile in the reflection of a glass cabinet door. The narcissistic preening of the Alpha’s voice continued for a moment before he fell silent. In stunned amazement, Stiles watched as the devastated skin on Peter’s face smoothed and reformed, scars flowing like water, dissolving and disappearing, until the horrifying mask was gone and an undeniably handsome and flawless visage remained.

Stiles gasped and pulled back, smacking his forehead with a clenched fist at his carelessness. He held his breath, straining to hear Peter’s next words.

“…After all, we’re _family_.” Peter paused. “I’d hate to have to take out my anger at your rejection on that weak, defenseless boy out there.”

As if to prove his point, Peter was suddenly in front of Stiles, ending any remote chance for escape. Stiles cringed as long fingers wrapped around his throat, fully expecting to feel claws biting into his skin at any moment.

Instead Stiles felt the slow, steady increase of pressure against his carotid and windpipe, gradually cutting off his ability to draw breath and causing his pulse to pound ineffectually in his ears. Instinctively, Stiles’ hands flew up, clawing and batting at the hand that was now dragging him into the room with Derek. 

With no seeming effort, Peter raised his arm, lifting Stiles off the floor to hang, limply displayed before the younger werewolf. From the corner of his eye, Stiles could see the stoic expression on his frenemy’s face as Derek watched Peter manhandle him. With eyes that flared unmistakably bright blue, Derek met Stiles’ gaze for a brief moment before blinking and refocusing on the floor with a small shrug.

“He’s a pain in my ass anyway.”

Vision dimming, Stiles flinched at Derek’s casual dismissal but the Alpha holding him just laughed.

“My dear nephew, surely you don’t expect me to believe that after you raced to his rescue earlier?” Peter lowered his arm just enough for the toes of Stiles’ sneakers to weakly scrabble at the industrial tile floor even as the teenager’s hands fumbled at the iron-like grip slowly crushing his windpipe. 

Derek’s mouth twisted in a sneer and he looked at his uncle, whose eyes were once again blue and very human-looking. “I don’t care what you believe, Uncle. You _know_ I’m not lying. Earlier, I felt responsible for bringing him here, but now? Clearly he was too stupid to take advantage of the chance I gave him to flee.” He wiped the trickles of blood from his nose and mouth before scrubbing his hand against his pants leg.

“You’re right, Peter, we’re family – the only family either of us has left. If we’re going to avenge the others, we have to work together.”

The vise-like grip of the Alpha’s fingers loosened before clenching. There was pain and a grinding sound and then nothing but an all-encompassing cold.

*****

Pain spiked through Stiles’ head as consciousness returned. He was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor where he had apparently been dropped. The tile was cold against the side of his face. Gasping for breath, trying to return his body’s oxygen levels to something resembling normal, Stiles pushed himself up on spaghetti arms until he was leaning against a supply cabinet. _What the hell?_

Gingerly, Stiles rotated his head, wincing as pain throbbed in his neck. “Shit,” he hissed, his voice raw. Using cautious fingers, he prodded at his neck to test for blood. Nothing. Apart from incredible pain, he seemed to be in one piece. 

Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the stainless steel. Memories flashed and he startled, groaning as bruises made themselves known. He dug into the pocket of his jeans for his phone to check the time. 

**_9:26_ **

The voicemail icon blinked at him and he pressed buttons automatically to retrieve it. Scott's anxious voice echoed off the cold surfaces in the silent room. 

The game. 

Crap. 

The game was over. 

Stiles scrambled to his feet and stood swaying for a moment. 

He had to find Scott. They were so fucked.

*****


	3. That Time in the Parking Garage

_ I am so fucked. _

Stiles stared warily at intense blue eyes as he slowly backed away from the Alpha. Why the hell couldn’t he keep his big mouth shut? He couldn’t believe he’d just questioned Peter Hale leaving him alive in the parking garage with a set of now-ruined Jeep keys.

“Do you want The Bite?” Peter’s voice was gentle, alluring, seductive even as it made the capitalization audible. Stiles could easily see why Melissa had been charmed. 

The alpha droned on as Stiles’ eyes darted around the empty garage. He wasn’t sure if he was hoping to see someone or not. It was doubtful that anyone other than one of Chris Argent’s hunting buddies was going to be able to help him without dying. Stiles didn’t want his dad or any of the deputies he’d grown up with anywhere near this maniac. Regardless, there was no one in sight. 

Reaching out, Peter grasped his right wrist and raised it towards his mouth, seeming to await Stiles’s acceptance of his offer.

He shook his head, jerking his arm from the startled werewolf’s grasp, even as elongated fangs brushed the starched cotton of his dress shirt.

“I don’t want to be like you.”

There was a blur of motion and Stiles felt as though he was flying for a brief moment before his head slammed into the closed trunk of the nurse’s car. The Alpha’s hand gripped the back of Stiles’ neck, claws sinking into his flesh. Blearily, Stiles heard Peter’s voice growl with rage as his head was repeatedly bounced against steel for emphasis. Stars exploded behind closed eyelids and blackness mercifully claimed him.

*****

It wasn’t the first time he had lost consciousness around the Alpha, but as he opened his eyes to stare sideways at the floor of the parking garage, Stiles was pretty sure it was the worst. Peter and the nurse’s sedan were gone. Head pounding, Stiles slowly crawled to his knees then pushed himself to his feet. He glanced around for his keys and saw them laying, bent and useless, a few feet away. Pain screamed through his legs as he stumbled over to lean against his Jeep.

Looking down he saw what appeared to be tire tread marks on the legs of his pants.  _ Freaking dick ran over me! _

Stiles tried to remember what had happened and all he could think was that somehow he had managed to survive yet another close encounter with Peter Hale.  _ How the hell? _

The earlier events of the night filtered into his awareness and all he could think of was Lydia. Had Jackass paid attention to his frantic message and found her? Had she survived? 

_ Is Lydia a werewolf now? _

*****

It wasn’t until a few weeks after Peter’s death that Stiles saw Derek alone in the grocery store parking lot and decided to confront him. Slamming the Jeep door, Stiles stalked through the twilight as the lights flickered on. He arrived as Derek was loading bags into the Camero’s trunk and shoved the young alpha hard, knocking him off-balance.

“What the hell, dude?” Stiles had neither forgotten nor forgiven Derek’s capitulation to Peter the night they had learned Derek’s uncle was the feral Alpha terrorizing Beacon Hills.

Red eyes flashed menace and Stiles snorted. “Oh please, you think after Peter  _ that’s  _ going to scare me?”

Derek froze, seeming to realize something before staring in puzzlement at Stiles. “How did you survive?”

“What do you mean?” Stiles pulled back, confused and startled.

“That night at the hospital. Peter killed you. How did you survive?” Derek stared at him, looking for...something.

“What—?” Stiles's brain stuttered to a halt.  _ No way. _

“What—?”

“Your heart stopped beating, Stiles; you were dead. Peter all but tore out your throat.”

Stiles made a dismissive noise. “Think, Sourwolf, how could I possibly be dead if I’m here? It’s not like I can come back from...the...dead...” He trailed off, remembering waking up in the parking garage after declining Peter’s  _ oh-so-generous _ offer. 

_ Surely not.  _

Still, both times he had been unconscious for an unknown period of time and both times he had awakened alone and in horrific pain. Despite memories and evidence... _ hello, there were tire tracks on his slacks! _ ...indicating he should probably be dead, he wasn’t. Despite hurting like hell — Stiles had been able to get up and leave the parking garage on his own.

“Stiles!”

Hands grabbed his shoulders and roughly shook him, bringing his thoughts back to the present. He shoved ineffectually at the alpha as he stared into Derek’s non-wolfy eyes and a new question dawned. “Dude, that night we learned Peter was the Alpha, I di— I was…?”

Seeming to remember they were standing in a public parking lot, Derek released him and stepped back, crossing his arms and glowering. “Don’t call me dude and what are you babbling about?”

Stiles stared at Derek, mouth opening and closing, but no words came out. He was unsure whether he really wanted to ask, much less know the answer.

After a moment of awkward silence, the werewolf growled, “Stiles…”

“Peter killed me?” Stiles winced as his voice squeaked on the last word. He’d thought that nonsense was over with a few years ago.

Emotions flickered across Derek’s face — surprise, confusion, realization and dismay. “You didn’t know.”

“Of course I didn’t know!” Stiles flailed. “I woke up on the floor with no one around! I thought I was unconscious, not DEAD!”

Spinning away, Stiles spinted for his Jeep, ignoring Derek calling his name. He needed to think.

*****

**Interlude**

Peter held up open, clawless hands in the universal sign of surrender, expression sobering to one of calculation as he gazed at Stiles. “But just think, if I hadn’t, we wouldn’t be discussing this cunning plan of yours.”

Five pairs of eyes glared at the oldest werewolf, two sets glowing golden. Surprisingly, it was Lydia who spoke up. 

“You killed Stiles?” She sounded horrified.

Momentarily Stiles preened at Lydia taking his side before vigorously shaking his head to reorder his thoughts. “Yeah, twice,” he corrected. “That’s not the point though” Stiles refocused his attention back to Peter. “Besides, it’s not like you’re the only one to ever kill me.”

*****


	4. Chaos At the Sheriff's Station

Stiles stared at Matt, who was making irrational demands, peppered with slurs and derogatory comments, while threatening everyone Stiles loved.  _ How the hell do I get Dad out of here alive? _ Focused on finding a way to escape, Stiles largely ignored the deputy’s stolen weapon that wavered between him and Scott. He was pretty sure being shot wouldn’t kill him dead-dead.

“Abominable snowman, but, uh, it’s more of a wintertime thing. You know — seasonal.” Stiles snarked in response to the psychotic teenager's dismissive words. What the hell did Matt know anyway? 

There was a slash of white hot pain on the back of his neck and Stiles immediately knew what had happened. “You bitch,” Stiles grunted as he fell forward onto a prone paralyzed Derek.

Matt’s voice rambled overhead as a low growl rumbled through Derek’s chest beneath Stiles’ cheek. They were trapped like this, both he and Derek were paralyzed and helpless. This wasn’t going to cut it, Stiles needed to really provoke Matt.

“Scott, don’t trust him,” Stiles commanded from where he was lying atop Derek. A rough hand grabbed him and rolled him off the werewolf, dragging him to lie face up. A shoe slammed down across Stiles’s throat.  _ Damn it, why was it always his throat? _

Helpless, Stiles gasped, eyes watering as Matt bore his weight down on Stiles’ vulnerable neck. Pain exploded and darkness descended. 

*****

Stiles’ eyes opened. He was unsurprised to see he was still lying face up on the floor of an office at the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Station. Absently, he wondered how long he had been...dead. Now that was a weird thought.  _ I really hope Dad didn’t see me like this. _

Scott and Matt were nowhere to be seen, however there seemed to be someone on the floor near him.

“Derek?” he asked, hoping it was indeed the sourwolf and not just a body.

"Yeah." 

Derek was clearly as talkative as ever.

"So, Chatty Cathy, what's happening?"

“Scott’s mom is here. Matt shot Scott, but he’s still alive, so probably healing. They headed back towards the holding cells. His mom is massively freaking out,” he paused. “I’m guessing she doesn’t know?”

“No, nor my dad and I’m still really hoping to keep it that way.” Stiles tried moving his arm, hoping his “resurrection” had solved the paralysis problem. No luck. He grumbled, irritated. “How long as it been?” 

“Not sure, ten minutes? Maybe twenty? Hard to tell without seeing a clock. I’m trying to jumpstart the healing factor.” Derek hissed an indrawn breath.

Stiles told himself he did  _ not _ want to know what Derek was doing to activate his werewolf-y healing. It was bad enough feeling everything each time  _ he  _ died. The previous summer Isaac had mentioned something about pain and broken bones — just, ew.

“Can you move?” Derek asked, voice low.

“Do I look like I’m moving?” Stiles snarked in response.

“I don’t know how this thing you do works,” Derek said, defensive.

Stiles sighed. “Sorry, dude, I don’t either. To be honest, I was kinda hoping that pissing off Matt so that he’d kill me would get me past the effects of the freaking kanima venom. Seriously, this resurrection gig is not all it’s cracked up to be. So, what happened while I was dead?” 

As Stiles listened in horrified fascination, Derek described Matt’s apparent on-going transition into a kanima due to the universe seeking balance. Honestly, he was starting to sound like Deaton.

Then a disturbing thought bounced into his head and out his mouth. “Waitaminute, if the universe balances things out, how do I keep cheating death? Ohmygod! Is someone else dying in my place?”

Stiles mentally flailed in horror, cursing the fact that his body wouldn't follow the simplest of commands.

“Stiles, focus,” Derek growled from next to him, drawing Stiles back to the problems at hand, namely psycho-Matt, kanima-Jackson, and uncooperative limbs.

Wait, his toes wiggled! 

“So that hypothetical thing we discussed getting any less hypothetical?” If he could move  _ his  _ toes, maybe Derek...

“I think so,” Derek grunted. “I can move my toes.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Dude, I can move  _ my  _ toes.

Derek was silent for several long moments before the lights went out and station alarms tripped with a siren and flashing lights, immediately followed by deafening roar of fully automatic gunfire.

"Oh, good grief, what now?" Stiles whined.

"Argents."

"Shit. Shit. Shit,” Stiles chanted, as yet barely able to twitch his hands and feet.

Derek, meanwhile, was finally moving, rolling onto his side when Scott burst through the doorway and heaved Stiles upright. Scott proceeded to drag him through the station mere steps ahead of kanima-Jackson. 

Stiles was still a deadweight as they entered an office with a door Jackson didn’t immediately wrench from its hinges, but at least he wasn’t dead so...small favors. Scott lowered Stiles onto the floor and said, “Don’t move.”

Stiles glared at the space Scott had occupied before his head fell back and he was left staring at the ceiling. He thoughts swirled. So, Matt, Argents, and a kanima — oh, my! When was the universe gonna cut him a break? Oh, yeah, it already did; he wasn’t DEAD.

He wished he could move. He thought better when he was moving.

_ Now what do we do? _

*****

Stiles had just scored the winning goal when the lights at the lacrosse pitch went out and rough hands grabbed him, dragging him off the field.  _ Fuck _ .

Somehow Stiles made it through the basement encounter with Grandpa Argent without dying — Yay! Unfortunately, being beat to hell by a dying old man had seriously sucked. Stiles was left debating whether another death might not have been preferable. Sure he died, but he came back, and the worst of his injuries always healed faster, whereas non-fatal damage healed almost human-slow. 

He proceeded to spend the summer hanging out with Derek and Isaac and, unfortunately, Peter — the asswipe — looking for Boyd and Erica who had disappeared after fleeing the Argent’s basement. Despite how much their leaving had gutted Derek, Stiles almost wanted to believe they had found and joined another pack. The knot in the pit of his stomach and the anxiety lingering in the air at Derek’s loft made that a hard sell.

Before they knew it, the summer was over; school was starting; Isaac was hospitalized; and the Alpha Pack was in town. Bodies were popping up all over the place as the Beacon Hills homicide rate spiked again. Meanwhile, wildlife had become oddly suicidal.

*****

**Interlude**

Allison narrowed her eyes as she looked at him. “Exactly how many times have you died, Stiles?”

“Uh, a few?”

“A few is not an exact number, Stiles,” Lydia pointed out in a haughty voice.

Stiles stared out the window and rubbed the back of his head briskly without answering.

“Stiles,” Derek growled, compelling Stiles to turn halfway to face them and respond.

“Four, okay? I died four times and if I’d stayed dead the last time…” He turned and kicked the wall behind him, causing his toes to protest the mistreatment. “Ow! Damn it!” Giving up, Stiles braced his hands along the windowsill and leaned his forehead against the cool glass as hot tears escaped down his cheeks. 

*****


	5. The Death of Innocence

_Oh my god!_

Stiles wrapped his arms around his blond childhood friend. When the hell had she become so — his thoughts stuttered at the unbelievable reality that was his life. _I’m kissing_ Heather! _This is a-ma-zing!_

She pulled back to look at him and his fingers threaded into her hair. “Got any protection?” Heather grinned hopefully at him.

“Uh...umm..” Stiles fumbled in his pocket for his wallet, nearly dropping it in his haste to access it. “I think so...let me...uh.”

The wallet fell from nerveless fingers as Heather leaned forward and kissed him again, her tongue teasing his, interrupting his fractured thoughts. 

“Murfle.” 

She pulled back and giggled at his reaction, dragging her fingers slowly along the low neckline of her top before dipping a couple of fingers in and fishing out a familiar-looking blue square packet. Heather grinned and pressed it into his hands, before reaching for his belt once more.

“Oh, well, there you go!” Stiles grinned and leaned back in to kiss her as she backed towards the wall. Stiles could swear the earth moved before the loud shattering of glass interrupted them and Heather screamed.

A draft of air caused him to look up as the ground level window opened and something reached in and dragged them both out into the night.

*****

Stiles knew before he opened his eyes that he had died again. _Ohmygod! Heather!_ He was sitting on the ground, tied to a tree. Frantic, he looked around for Heather, but all he could see were shadows and more trees. He was probably somewhere in the Preserve.

Struggling, he pulled at his bindings. They were surprisingly loose and with effort he was able to wiggle free. He inventoried himself — still clothed, but his shirt felt damp, stiff and sticky. _No, no, NO!_ There was a thin rope wrapped around his neck, pressing into his flesh just beneath his chin. _Seriously? Again?_

A tender area across his lower throat was tacky with what smelled like blood and his head was killing him. Gentle exploration found the side of his head was also bloody. 

Someone — or some _thing_ — really wanted him dead, because seriously, three mortal wounds? _Why is it always my neck?_ Stiles shook his head in irritation and winced as pain exploded at the motion. Even Derek kept threatening to rip his throat out _. Focus, Stiles._

Using the tree, Stiles hauled himself to his feet and peered into the surrounding darkness. 

"Heather?” His voice croaked. 

Nothing. He cleared his throat and called out again.

The night calls of frogs and crickets were his only answer.

Patting his pockets, he found his phone and dug it out. He gave thanks for small favors and used trembling hands to dial Derek's speed number. He needed help. He needed clean clothes and a ride back to the party. 

He needed to find Heather, but he was scared it was already too late.

He also needed to call his dad and report Heather missing, because there were plenty of witnesses who had seen him and Heather go into the basement together.

_I hope she's okay._

*****

**Interlude**

Swiping at the tears with angry motions, Stiles turned back to the pack to finish arguing his case.

"So we've pretty much established that so-called fatal neck wounds are not so fatal for me. So long as you go with your default and 'rip my throat out with your teeth', I should be fine." Stiles stated with as much certainty as he possessed.

Stiles looked around at the faces surrounding him, trying to gauge potential agreement by their initial reactions.

Isaac looked scared, and wasn't that a kick in the teeth...the big, bad wolf was gone and the scared teenager had returned. Recent months had shaken his expectation that he could handle anything life threw at him now that he was a werewolf. To be fair, the Alphas were terrifying.

Leaning against each other, Boyd and Cora both appeared worried, but seemed unwilling to speak up with everyone present.

Narrow-eyed, Peter was clearly intrigued and returned to the stairs where he sat stroking his chin, deep in thought.

A thoughtful expression crossed Lydia’s face. “Are you sure the threefold death only counted once? If it’s a three-death sacrifice, then you died three times. Also, that would indicate that blunt force trauma to your head also will not permanently kill you.”

Allison’s gaze flew between Derek and Stiles, frown lines wrinkling her forehead. She was clearly concerned about Stiles’ brilliant plan.

Meanwhile, Scott cocked his head to one side, looking like a confused puppy. “But, what if you’re like a cat and only have nine lives?”

Stiles noticed he wasn’t the only one to turn to stare at Scott in disbelief. He was, however, more accustomed to the random thoughts that flew, unedited, from Scott’s mouth. “Dude, do I _look_ like a cat?” 

“Umm, no? But, hey, werewolves are a thing, so...you know?” Scott seemed uncertain.

Peter rose and swaggered back across the room to stand near Stiles while adding his two cents. “I am unaware of the existence of werecats or any creature that actually possesses a set number of lives for resurrection purposes. However, the lovely Lydia has a point,” Peter nodded in her direction as she glared in response. He shifted his attention to Stiles and continued, undaunted. “Returning from having your skull bashed in would indicate that your continued survival is not contingent on the fatal wound being to your neck.” He smirked and wandered away once more.

When Stiles finally looked at Derek, the alpha’s eyes were glowing red as he glowered. Basically, Stiles thought, he looked pretty normal.

“So, good. We have a plan.” Stiles clapped his hands together.

Derek closed his eyes and a deep rumble filled the loft. After it ended, he took a deep breath before opening human blue eyes to glare at his pack. “Everyone, out. No one goes anywhere alone. Stiles, you stay.”

The teenagers scrambled to comply, Scott inviting everyone except Peter to his house. 

Peter lingered by the door until Derek growled and flashed red eyes at him. “Go,” he commanded.

“But I’ll be alone,” Peter objected silkily.

The look Derek sent his way was clear on just how many shits Derek gave. Peter responded with a mocking half-bow and turned to depart.

The door closed behind Derek’s uncle before Derek turned back to Stiles. “I’m not killing anyone in my pack, Stiles.”

“I know, Sourwolf. That’s why this is the perfect plan, not only will I not die, but I’m pack-adjacent anyway, not that anyone in the Alpha Pack knows that—”

“No, Stiles, I’m not killing anyone in my pack, however temporary the death might be.” 

Stiles’ breath caught and he stared at Derek. The tug in his chest blossomed into warmth that spread all the way to his fingertips and toes. “You...uh...I...you mean I’m pack?” Stiles flinched as his voice cracked on the last word.

Derek nodded, then he surprised Stiles by continuing to use his words. “Who did I trust after Kate Argent shot me? Who sheltered me when I was on the run from your dad? You, Stiles. You’ve been my pack since before I was an alpha.”

Stiles was dumbfounded. All he could manage was, “Oh.”

_I’m Pack!_

*****


	6. Nothing Ever Goes As Planned

“No, no, no, no,” Stiles voice grew increasingly louder as he stared with dismay at the tree that had been toppled into the power lines running to the darkened building. He had broken every speed limit between the school and Derek’s loft and it was a miracle they hadn’t been pulled over.

Parking the Jeep haphazardly along the curb, Stiles, Lydia, and Cora clambered out. They raced into the building. Once inside, Cora bolted up the stairs while Stiles paused with Lydia. 

“Go,” she ordered. “I’ll wait here for Scott.”

Stiles took off, taking the steps two at a time. He arrived, panting, at the top landing, to find the massive sliding door open and pandemonium inside the loft. In the darkness, snarls sounded, bodies flew, and water splashed. Inexplicably, Isaac was escorting a terrified and disheveled Ms. Blake up the steps and out of the loft. Stiles stepped past them, pushing that oddity aside, and searched for Derek.

“Take him,” Kali’s vicious voice ordered from the shadows.

Across the loft, Stiles could see two shapes he recognized as the twins converge on Derek. Each twin grabbed an arm, grappling for a few seconds before overpowering him. Derek was forced to his knees in the water.

Stiles yelped as a clawed hand grabbed him, yanking him off the steps and causing him to go flying. He flailed, splashing as he hit the floor, but was unable to right himself before he was picked up and raised in the air. Kali-the-She-Bitch carried Stiles like a trophy over to where the twins held Derek captive, clawed hands forced overhead and slightly in front of him.

It looked like they would be going with his plan after all.

_ Holy crap, I hope it works! _ Before Stiles could think anything else, Kali swung him like a bat, with Derek’s hands the piñata. 

Pain, such as Stiles had never before experienced, tore into his upper abdomen and chest and his world went white.

*****

Stiles opened his eyes and blinked. Oh dear god, he hurt! It was dark and, judging by the couple of inches of water he was lying in, he was still in Derek’s loft. Voices were murmuring a few feet away. Stiles couldn’t make out the words, but they sounded like Cora and Boyd. 

Gentle fingers fumbled for his hand and he heard soft sobs to his right.

“Someone...someone should probably...text Scott.” Boyd’s voice drifted through the darkness.

When no one offered, he spoke again. “Uh, I’ll...uh...just go find Isaac and Ms. Blake downstairs and take care of that.” Splashing footsteps headed for the door.

“Stiles.” It was Lydia beside him, her usual strong voice a tad unsteady. “It would be great if you would just disprove the theory that you can only come back from head and neck wounds.”

He weakly gripped her hand and she gasped.

“Stiles?”

The nearby voices went abruptly silent before water sloshed as someone staggered to where he was lying.

“M’here,” Stiles said in a weak voice. Damn. He didn’t recall ever feeling this crappy before. “I survived. Yay me.”

“We thought you’d come back quicker.” Lydia’s voice was irritated and she dropped his hand to scrub at her tear-stained cheeks.

“How long?” Stiles asked. He could never tell how much time had passed, so he had no clue if he had taken extra time to return.

“Almost twenty minutes,” Lydia replied with an audible sniff. “Don’t do that again.”

“It’s not like I had a choice.” Stiles could feel his strength slowly returning. Huh, usually he was more healed up by the time he woke. He must have really been in bad shape. He continued, “Things just worked out. We got lucky.” 

“I do not think we have the same definition of ‘lucky’, Stiles,” she whispered furiously. “Derek was devastated.”

Displaced water washed over him in a wave as Derek staggered over and dropped to his knees next to him. “Stiles,” Derek’s voice was a pleading whisper.

“Hey, Sourwolf,” Stiles croaked and reached for his alpha. 

Derek caught Stiles’s hand in both of his and squeezed, forgetting his wolfy strength.

“Ow, ow, ow,” Stiles chanted, attempting to reclaim his hand unbroken.

Derek glanced down at the actually fragile hand sandwiched between his own and loosened, but did not fully release, his grip. “Sorry,” he muttered before shifting to sit back on his haunches and glare at Stiles. 

“My plan worked. Yay me.” Stiles quirked a crooked grin.

“Your plan sucked.” Derek growled. “But I’m glad it worked anyway and no one died.” 

*****

****Epilogue****

“Thank god that’s over!” Stiles looked around the thoroughly cleaned loft and turned to Derek. “You need real furniture, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude,” Derek growled automatically. “However, you’re not wrong.”

“A TV with surround sound and a gaming system would also be good,” Stiles continued unfazed, already planning pack gaming tournaments. “And, seriously, you need an actual kitchen.”

Derek turned his back to Stiles and faced his sister, “Want to go furniture shopping?”

With a half-shrug, Cora gave a small smile. “Sure, but maybe we could consider a home with more space? And actual rooms?” 

“Awesome!” Stiles cheered and clapped his hands together. Stepping between the two siblings, he put an arm around their shoulders, gathering them in.

“I have some great ideas!”

The End?

**Author's Note:**

> From FlutterFyre: Huge thanks to my co-creator, freshbakedlady, for all advice, assistance, input, feedback, and beta-ing during my first Pod_together experience. It was a joy working with you!  
> Thanks also to the Pod_together 2019 mods, both for organizing this event and for granting me the opportunity to participate at the proverbial last minute.
> 
> From freshbakedlady: many thanks to FlutterFyre and the mods for arranging a pinch-hit for me that proved to be delightful at all stages.


End file.
